Joint Venture
by Sparkling Cyanide
Summary: Crowley, in an attempt to further the machinations of hell, makes a few business deals. Slight crossover with Dogma.


A/N: I had a lot of fun writing the song parody so I decided to try writing to actual fic. Feedback is appreciated. 

Joint Venture

At the Top of The Sixes, his favourite New York restaurant, Raven Sable was entertaining a rather unique guest. Having polished of the meager portions of his trendy overpriced meal in under 30 seconds flat(1), the demon Crowley resumed outlining his plan. 

"What better way to market your new line of Kid's MEALS(TM)," the demon continued as he pushed the plate aside. "Than to have a cute cuddly animal endorse them?" 

Sable thoughtfully took a sip from a slender wine glass before replying. "I didn't think 'cute' was your style, Crawly-" 

"Crowley," the demon corrected automatically. "And it's not, but it works. Just look at the Disney Corporation." 

Sable had to concede that the demon had a point. 

"Besides," the former serpent of Eden hissed. "You've got to hook 'em when they're young. Your MEALS(TM) will cause them to grow up obese in a society that demands perfection." 

The other nearby diners in the restaurant who happened to overhear Crowley's statement, wondered briefly if it was possible to become obese at all given their circumstances(2). 

"Later on," Crowley continued after willing the eavesdroppers to forget the conversation. "They'll snap under the pressure and resort to all kinds of interesting past times like bingeing and purging and liposuction." 

Across the table, Sable remained skeptical. The plan would certainly work but he could accomplish the same without demonic interference. 

Crowley realized this but would not be deterred. 

"I've never know you to pass up the opportunity to get a hand in the American fast food industry," the sly demon cajoled. "And when this catches on, new markets for your 'food' will open up." 

"Yes," Sable replied. "This definitely furthers my plans, but what of your own." Famine was not a Horseperson of the Apocalypse because he trusted these so-called joint ventures. 

Crowley decided to be honest for once. 

"I'm a demon," he said proudly. "It's my job to damn as many humans as possible. What better way to do so then manipulate their petty obsessions and encourage them to dabble in all the vices they think up for themselves?" 

Crowley sounded almost proud of humanity for developing this talent before he continued. "If they starve to death or die of malnutrition as a result of your MEALS(TM), they'll only get to Hell faster - so it works for both of us." 

The demon then leaned conspiratorially across the table. "And there is the matter of that priceless little joke at Heaven's expense." 

Famine's thin lips twisted into an amused smile at the thought. 

"Mr. Crowley," he said as he extended an almost skeletal hand in a handshake. "You have a deal." 

Withdrawing his hand, the Horseperson removed a sleek cellular phone from the pocket of his streamlined black suit. 

"I'll have my assistant make the necessary arrangements," Famine said as his thin fingers dialed the numbers. 

_Excellent,_ Crowley thought as he relaxed over his drink. All that remained was getting this little project off the ground before the angel became too suspicious. Of course the Agreement demanded that he tell Aziraphale eventually, but for the moment... 

~*~

"Mooby the Golden Calf?" Aziraphale raised his eyebrow in skeptical distain and directed a rather pointed look in the demon's direction. Having finished dinner at the Ritz, the two felt it necessary to discuss matters of the Agreement over drinks which was why Crowley had reluctantly brought up the current topic of conversation. 

"What?" Crowley sounded slightly indignant, almost insulted. Surely the bloody angel could appreciate the irony. 

"Well, it is somewhat..." the angel fumbled for the right word. "Obvious. Isn't it dear? I thought your lot was all about subtlety." 

"It would've been a lot more subtle if I didn't have to turn the project over to some human wankers in favour of my other pursuits." The demon's tone was defensive. 

"I suppose then," Aziraphale began with a long suffering sigh. "I'll have to publish some medical studies on the hazards of fast food and rally the social activists to protest corporate oppression." 

"You can try angel, but it won't make any difference," Crowley said uncharitably. "Humans are apathetic to that sort of thing anyway. They always do exactly as they please regardless of our influence." 

"True," the angel sounded thoughtful. "But as the organization is fundamentally evil it will eventually collapse due to its own internal corruption." 

"Yeah," Crowley sounded bored as he had heard this argument numerous times before and still didn't believe it. "Keep telling yourself that Aziraphale, nothing short of an act of God is going to ruin this enterprise." 

"That could be arranged dear." Something in Aziraphale's tone suggested that Crowley should be careful Whose name he invoked. 

"How?" the demon was incredulous, fully confident in his own victory. "It's not like _you've_ done any righteous smiting lately!" 

"Yes," the angel's voice was cool and even - almost dangerously so. "But once you learn, you never forget how." 

Rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, Crowley poured himself another glass of wine. Politely, he decided to change the topic of conversation. It wouldn't do to upset Aziraphale too much, would it? After all, as much as he enjoyed reveling in his current victory, he didn't want to lose his drinking partner. 

Little did Crowley know, however, that very soon on the other side of the world, two avenging angels would be leaving the state of Wisconsin and traveling to an unremarkable church in New Jersey. 

After a quick detour to the local gun shop, of course. 

~*~

(1)Hardly a record all things considered.   
(2)i.e. starvation 

Standard Disclaimers Apply   
Good Omens characters and concepts belong to Gaiman and Pratchett.   
Dogma characters and concepts belong to Kevin Smith. 


End file.
